radical, who was so bitter about reactionaries,
should choose as his favourite reading a novelist who was a Catholic
and a Royalist. But this is one of those miracles of France. Alain's
passions made him distrustful and rebellious. His instincts of
a Norman peasant brought him back to the wisdom of Balzac. I remember
that he especially admired Le Me'decin de Campagne, which should
become the political Bible of all French conservatives. Thanks
to him, the work of Balzac has become a part of my life, and since
my Year of Philosophy I have never lived without having the Come'die
Humaine within reach.
I have known few better readers than Alain. He would get at the
details of a text and savour their beauty. He also wanted to remain
a man of few authors. He believed that an ardent reader ought to
have a limited library and re-read the same books every year. If
I remember rightly his consisted of Homer, Balzac, Stendhal, Saint-Simon,
Tacitus, Plato, Descartes, Spinoza and Hegel. He also used to read,
like my father, the Memorial de Sainte-Helene. Later on I made
him add to his favourites Chateaubriand's Memoires d'Outre-Tombe,
Cardinal de Retz and Rudyard Kipling. Nothing was harder than to
get him to read a contemporary author.
`It's better to wait,' he would say ...`If in ten years you still
admire him perhaps I'll see.'
Nevertheless, he himself adopted Claudel and Valery between the
two wars and talked about them better than anyone else.
In our exercises he paid more attention to style than to content.
`This isn't written,' in his mouth was a sentence from which there
was no appeal. The first thesis that he gave me was a thought from
Plato: 'Makroteran periiteon'. `One must take the longer road.'
I still have one
of my compositions, at the top of which he has written in blue
crayon: `Compress, condense and end with a bang.' He often put
me on my guard against measured prose and against phrase making:
`If you aren't careful', he told me, `you may become a distinguished
writer of flowery prose. That's not desirable. Read the Civil Code
and Henri Brulard. They'll save you from phrases.'
The subjects he gave us were designed to discourage rhetoric: `A
young woman is about to jump off the parapet of the Boieldieu Bridge.
A philosopher holds her back by the skirt. The ensuing dialogue.'
Or again: `Dialogue between a sacristan and a fire chief on the
existence of God.'
If I try now to reconstruct a picture of the world which our master

travel books:
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where is HEAD
where is TITLE radical, who was so bitter about reactionaries, should choose as his favourite reading a novelist who was a Catholic and a Royalist. But this is one of those miracles of France. Alain's passions made him distrustful and rebellious. His instincts of a Norman peasant brought him back to what is wisdom of Balzac. I remember that he especially admired Le Me'decin de Campagne, which should become what is political Bible of all French conservatives. Thanks to him, what is work of Balzac has become a part of my life, and since my Year of Philosophy I have never lived without having what is Come'die Humaine within reach. I have known few better readers than Alain. He would get at what is details of a text and savour their beauty. He also wanted to remain a man of few authors. He believed that an ardent reader ought to have a limited library and re-read what is same books every year. If I remember rightly his consisted of Homer, Balzac, Stendhal, Saint-Simon, Tacitus, Plato, Descartes, Spinoza and Hegel. He also used to read, like my father, what is Memorial de Sainte-Helene. Later on I made him add to his favourites Chateaubriand's Memoires d'Outre-Tombe, Cardinal de Retz and Rudyard Kipling. Nothing was harder than to get him to read a contemporary author. `It's better to wait,' he would say ...`If in ten years you still admire him perhaps I'll see.' Nevertheless, he himself adopted Claudel and Valery between what is two wars and talked about them better than anyone else. In our exercises he paid more attention to style than to content. `This isn't written,' in his mouth was a sentence from which there was no appeal. what is first thesis that he gave me was a thought from Plato: 'Makroteran periiteon'. `One must take what is longer road.' I still have one of my compositions, at what is top of which he has written in blue crayon: `Compress, condense and end with a bang.' He often put me on my guard against measured prose and against phrase making: `If you aren't careful', he told me, `you may become a distinguished writer of flowery prose. That's not desirable. Read what is Civil Code and Henri Brulard. They'll save you from phrases.' what is subjects he gave us were designed to discourage rhetoric: `A young woman is about to jump off what is parapet of what is Boieldieu Bridge. A philosopher holds her back by what is skirt. what is ensuing dialogue.' Or again: `Dialogue between a sacristan and a fire chief on what is existence of God.' If I try now to reconstruct a picture of what is world which our master
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Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" Call No Man Happy (1943)
where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0"
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where is p align="center" where is strong what is RIVER OF what is ARROW
where is p align="justify" radical, who was so bitter about reactionaries,
should choose as his favourite reading a novelist who was a Catholic
and a Royalist. But this is one of those miracles of France. Alain's
passions made him distrustful and rebellious. His instincts of
a Norman peasant brought him back to what is wisdom of Balzac. I remember
that he especially admired Le Me'decin de Campagne, which should
become what is political Bible of all French conservatives. Thanks
to him, what is work of Balzac has become a part of my life, and since
my Year of Philosophy I have never lived without having what is Come'die
Humaine within reach.
I have known few better readers than Alain. He would get at the
details of a text and savour their beauty. He also wanted to remain
a man of few authors. He believed that an ardent reader ought to
have a limited library and re-read what is same books every year. If
I remember rightly his consisted of Homer, Balzac, Stendhal, Saint-Simon,
Tacitus, Plato, Descartes, Spinoza and Hegel. He also used to read,
like my father, what is Memorial de Sainte-Helene. Later on I made
him add to his favourites Chateaubriand's Memoires d'Outre-Tombe,
Cardinal de Retz and Rudyard Kipling. Nothing was harder than to
get him to read a contemporary author.
`It's better to wait,' he would say ...`If in ten years you still
admire him perhaps I'll see.'
Nevertheless, he himself adopted Claudel and Valery between the
two wars and talked about them better than anyone else.
In our exercises he paid more attention to style than to content.
`This isn't written,' in his mouth was a sentence from which there
was no appeal. what is first thesis that he gave me was a thought from
Plato: 'Makroteran periiteon'. `One must take what is longer road.'
I still have one
of my compositions, at what is top of which he has written in blue
crayon: `Compress, condense and end with a bang.' He often put
me on my guard against measured prose and against phrase making:
`If you aren't careful', he told me, `you may become a distinguished
writer of flowery prose. That's not desirable. Read what is Civil Code
and Henri Brulard. They'll save you from phrases.'
what is subjects he gave us were designed to discourage rhetoric: `A
young woman is about to jump off what is parapet of what is Boieldieu Bridge.
A philosopher holds her back by what is skirt. what is ensuing dialogue.'
Or again: `Dialogue between a sacristan and a fire chief on the
existence of God.'
If I try now to reconstruct a picture of what is world which our master
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travel books: Call No Man Happy (1943) books